I found this on another forum and thought it was needed on NYspeed. Long read but its funny
What IS the male fascination with their genitalia? That dangling appendage swaying in the breeze, aptly described to a young Mineko Iwasaki in ‘Memoirs of a Geisha’ as a ‘homeless eel.’ It fluctuates states of readiness, standing at attention or shriveling in the cold. It’s been accused of controlling our actions, and we’ve been accused of not being able to control it. It is not a separate entity, dancing to an old Indian man’s flute.
It is also NOT A TOY.
Unfortunately, some boys, I feel troubled calling them men, forget that fact. Are they under the influence? Are the insecure? Their motivations elude me, but these are some of their stories.
Do you think it’s odd the amount of penis related incidents had had to deal with in my dorm? Good. I do too. I think it’s because I was the only male RA, and the girls didn’t want to deal with this bullshit… or that they were laughing too hard to leave the office.
Case #1: Viagra, Astroglide and Watermelons.
He was a smart boy, a freshman and one of those kids who aren’t really social. He had friends, but kept to himself. He’d smile if I passed him in the hall, and seemed to know everyone… thus it was with only mild surprise when I got a phone call on a Friday evening from the female RA on duty saying he was having a problem and requested me to give him a hand.
It was 11:30 at night, and as the secondary I had to stay in the dorm. Thanks to a sick roommate and Evil Dead 2, I wasn’t minding it so much… I still had my $1.99 40oz. of Colt 45, no one pays attention to that ‘no drinking on the job policy’ …well, I didn’t.
But I’ve lost the point, and that point was… let’s call him Charlie. Not his real name… because I don’t want to make his life a living hell after his friends read this.
I knock on his door and after hearing him tell me to wait a moment; I hear all three locks disengaging. His back is too me, and he has a comforter wrapped around himself; I won’t bore you, or alert his friends with his physical appearance.
‘Nice fashion Chuck, asking me for advice?’
I notice he’s been crying.
‘Dude, what’s the matter?’
‘Mike… I…’ He drops the comforter, and turns to face me. He’s half naked, and both of his hands are gripping the undersides of a watermelon… into which his penis is inserted.
‘Dude!’ I turn away, ‘Is this some kinda come on? I don’t do the, umm… fruit thing, thanks anyway.’ And I make to leave.
‘Mike!’ I turn around, he’s crying. ‘Mike, my dick is stuck!’
My mouth drops. ‘You are fucking kidding me. Just pull it out.’
‘Don’t you think I woulda tried before CALLING you?!’
It turns out that his roommate were away for the weekend, and having not gotten any loving himself, he decided to experiment. He took three of his roommates Viagra (Why are nineteen year olds using Viagra?) and when his hand wasn’t doing it for him; he pulled the watermelon out of their freezer that they were filling with vodka (You cut a hole and let the vodka seep in). He figured it would be a prank, as he didn’t drink himself. When he didn’t fit, he lubricated himself and slipped in to do the deed. The Viagra kept him from softening though, and apparently the Astroglide, with the cold, and the small hole and his enlarged member, created some kind of pressure that trapped his dick in the frozen watermelon… ‘And now it’s gone numb!’
‘Jesus Christ.’ I stared. Yes, at penis not of my own… I stared. ‘Ummm… you try breaking it?’
He squatted above the coffee table and let the watermelon go. It dropped with a noticeable crack. Frozen solid. He looked at me pleadingly.
‘Okay, chill… chill… we can handle this.’
Right now, I’ll admit I was a bit buzzed, possibly bordering on drunk. Sorry, Cathy (my RD).
I picked up a large, unwieldy textbook. ‘Just squat and put the watermelon on the table.’ He complied. Visions of Bruce Campbell dancing in my head, I smashed the textbook down on the watermelon!
THUD.
THUD.
THU- ‘FUCKER!’ The book had slid and smashed the protruding part of his ‘member.’
I laughed. I’m sorry, but I laughed… I had just crushed a boy’s penis with a textbook while it was shoved into a watermelon.
Tears streaming down his face, he hits the fourth stage of grief and starts sobbing, ‘I’m going to lose my dick, I’m going to lose my dick.’
I put my hand on his shoulder and look him in the eyes, ‘Not if I have anything to do about it.’ Who the fuck am I? There is no penis saving superhero.
Fortunately, it seems he doesn’t know that, and he nods… he tears ceasing.
‘Okay then! Lets recap (Yay, training is taking over). You were horny.’ He nods. ‘You decided to fuck a watermelon.’ He nods. ‘Your dick got stuck by some freak accident.’ He nods. ‘If we don’t get it out soon, you will get frostbite of the genitalia, and lose it.’ His eyes widen at this new possibility and the cursing starts.
‘Dude, fucking Christ Mike, you fucking have to get this shit off me.’
My eyes take in the room and I see his salvation, sitting unperturbed in the kitchen. His gaze follows mine, ‘Mike, no fucking knives.’
‘The oven.’
‘What?!’
I go to the kitchen, open it, and turn it on 350 degrees. ‘Squat here with your watermelon.’
‘You’re going to cook my dick!’
‘Not IN the oven, on the door.’
He complies, and steam starts coming off the melon. ‘Hey, thanks Mike… actually… this feels kinda good.’
‘I’m leaving.’
‘I’m kidding!’
‘I’m leaving,’ my hand grasping the doorknob.
‘Maybe I’m not, wow.’
‘I’m fucking leaving,’ I open the door.
‘Please don’t tell my roommates- whooooa, not bad at all.’
‘I hate my fucking job,’ and the door closes behind me.
I hope it’s not an R Sorry if it is.